


winning is everything

by jayeinacross



Category: Haikyuu!!, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Iwaizumi pining for Oikawa, Kasamatsu pining for Kise, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayeinacross/pseuds/jayeinacross
Summary: They've never met before, of course. They don't even the play the same sport. But sharing this one thing feels like enough to know each other, to make something between them, because this loss is so deep that it's consuming them both."How long do you have left?"Iwaizumi knows exactly what Kasamatsu is asking him. "Three more tournaments.""Me too," Kasamatsu says, gripping the edge of the bench so tightly that his knuckles turn white.Iwaizumi and Kasamatsu meet in their second year, and together they learn what it means to lose.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Kasamatsu Yukio
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	winning is everything

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is five years late for a prompt in SASO 2015's quotes bonus round:
> 
> "Winning is everything in this world. The victors write history. The losers are wiped from it." -- Akashi Seijuurou.

**three / summer**

His ears are ringing. There's a sea of slumped shoulders around him, players that are shaking as they file off the court and fill the halls. Iwaizumi is one of them, sinking down into his frustration and grief. It doesn't matter how good you are if you're not at the top. They've left behind countless teams only to be beaten by Shiratorizawa again and again, only to end up like every other school: losers.

Iwaizumi is _drowning_ in it.

It's usually hard to not look at Oikawa, but Iwaizumi can't bring himself to now. He feels a hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard before letting go, but he doesn't even look up to see who it is. His vision blurs. There's little comfort in anything anyone can say or do, even his team. He finds a moment to slip away for a bit - they won't be leaving for a few hours yet, and he needs to find some space to breathe. Iwaizumi makes his excuses, avoiding Oikawa's gaze all the while, and ducks into an empty locker room.

Or so he thought. Iwaizumi shuts the door, leaning against it and letting out a harsh breath, but as soon as the lock clicks into place he notices someone sitting on one of the benches. He has his head in his hands, still in uniform - basketball, it looks like, a blue jersey. Iwaizumi's about to back out of the room, but the other guy turns to look at him, and even in the dim light Iwaizumi can see that his eyes are red.

"You don't have to go," he says, when Iwaizumi starts fumbling for the door handle. "I'm just..."

"Yeah. I...I know." Iwaizumi doesn't leave. Instead, he sits down next to the basketball player. "What's your name?"

"Kasamatsu Yukio."

Kasamatsu Yukio, Iwaizumi learns, is a second-year, a point guard, and a loser.

They've never met before, of course. They don't even the play the same sport. But sharing this one thing feels like enough to know each other, to make something between them, because this loss is so deep that it's consuming them both.

"How long do you have left?"

Iwaizumi knows exactly what Kasamatsu is asking him. "Three more tournaments."

"Me too," Kasamatsu says, gripping the edge of the bench so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

Something is building inside of Iwaizumi, and it makes him want to scream and cry and beat his fists against the lockers, but instead he kisses Kasamatsu. He doesn't expect much, maybe to get punched — Iwaizumi thinks that would probably make him feel better, less empty, less _nothing_ — but instead Kasamatsu kisses him back, and it's not gentle, but it's much nicer than getting a black eye. He still feels an impact in his chest though, in his stomach, like he's been winded, and when they pull apart they're both gasping for air.

Kasamatsu's mouth is the perfect distraction, something to channel his leftover adrenaline into, and it feels fucking _good_ to nip and suck at his lips and hear the growl in Kasamatsu's throat. Then there's hands pulling off Iwaizumi's jacket; Kasamatsu tears his mouth away from Iwaizumi's only to scrape his teeth over his collarbone instead. It makes Iwaizumi shudder, then groan when he feels a hand pressing against his hard cock through his clothes. They both shove their shorts down out of the way, Kasamatsu's hips jerking up into his grip when he wraps his fingers around him, cock hot in Iwaizumi's hand.

They're trying not to make too much noise, mouths pressed together so hard it hurts, teeth digging into sensitive flesh. For a brief moment, Iwaizumi desperately wonders if anyone is looking for him in the hallways of the stadium, but his thoughts are quickly wrenched away. His hand is moving more erratically as he gets closer and closer to coming, but Kasamatsu doesn't seem to mind — he's practically keening into Iwaizumi's mouth despite his efforts to keep quiet, his free hand clutching Iwaizumi's jersey as he comes over his fist.

Kasamatsu's panting against his shoulder, working Iwaizumi's cock even as he comes down from his own orgasm, and Iwaizumi tries really hard not to think of Oikawa when he comes.

It doesn't work, though. Never does.

* * *

**two / winter**

_We lost,_ Kasamatsu types. _It's over._

 _Come see me,_ Iwaizumi replies.

It's a long trip, but it gives Kasamatsu the precious space he needs to be alone, at least for a few hours. When he's with his teammates he can feel their stares on his back, chills spiking up and down his spine. He can bear the disgust, the resentment — he deserves them. It's the pity he can't stand, from the few who have some real sympathy left for him. It tastes bitter, makes him want to spit at his own hands. They still feel clumsy and stiff with the hesitation that lost them the Winter Cup.

That pass plays over and over again in his mind as the train hurtles towards Miyagi, and he presses his fists against his eyes until he sees stars, as if that will block out the constant rewind in his head.

They're both too far and too busy to see each other often, but they text sporadically. Iwaizumi had wished him luck for his last game, not that it had mattered. Kasamatsu had still failed. With the deafening cheers of Kaijou thundering in his ears, the weight of the pride of his school squarely on his shoulders and his alone, he had fumbled.

So he runs to Miyagi. Kasamatsu is nervous as he gets closer, wondering if it will be awkward between them. Their first meeting was brief, after all, and not what you could call a regular introduction. Kasamatsu still gets a little flustered thinking about it sometimes.

Iwaizumi meets him at the train station, wearing a coat and scarf, and Kasamatsu needn't have worried. They don't say much as they walk, but Kasamatsu doesn't feel awkward or nervous anymore. He feels open, like Iwaizumi sees straight into him, his dark eyes saying, _I know you._ The streets around them are quiet, like the understanding between them, a silence that feels comfortable even as Kasamatsu thinks he's going to fall apart.

"It was my fault," Kasamatsu says, as they reach Iwaizumi's door.

Iwaizumi looks at him, then shakes his head, pushing the door open. "That's what everyone thinks."

He takes Kasamatsu to his room. It's different from the last time in the locker room, and not just because they're in a bed. Maybe Iwaizumi can feel how low Kasamatsu has sunk. There's nothing to fuel the kind of frenzy that pushed them together the first time, no rush from having just stepped off the court, only a deep ache that Kasamatsu feels all the way to his bones. He lets Iwaizumi slowly peel off his winter layers and press him into the bed. They're the same height, but Iwaizumi is broader, in the shoulders and the chest and the thighs, and his weight on top of Kasamatsu is comforting.

Iwaizumi has a serious face, but he's sweet and soft in a way that makes Kasamatsu wonder if he learned it from someone, or if it just comes naturally to him.

The thought doesn't last for long, because Iwaizumi is kissing his mouth, his neck, biting strangely gently at the tender skin on his sides, and dragging his lips and tongue along Kasamatsu's cock until he's hard and wanting more. He makes Kasamatsu wait, though, tries to make him patient — but Kasamatsu is restless, writhing, and somewhere else.

 _One pass,_ Kasamatsu thinks, and his body flinches away from the unwanted thought. Iwaizumi pauses, and Kasamatsu groans when he lifts his head.

"Don't stop," Kasamatsu says, teeth gritted, trying not to whine. His hips are straining upwards, frustrated by himself and by the sudden disappearance of the mouth wrapped around his dick, but Iwaizumi keeps him pinned to the bed.

"Then stop thinking," Iwaizumi tells him, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, wet with spit. "Just — let me take care of you."

At that, Kasamatsu does let out a little whine; he can't help it, he thinks he sees Iwaizumi's ears turning red, but then Iwaizumi is taking him back into his mouth and he throws his head back into the pillow, fingers running through Iwaizumi's hair. But Iwaizumi remains firmly in control, refusing to stray from his slow, careful pace. He's not delicate, exactly, but he is measured, keeping Kasamatsu suspended in a state of need and pleasure.

Kasamatsu closes his eyes, shaking — he's been teased for so long, and his dick is so sensitive, and Iwaizumi is just relentless — and finally, eventually, his mind goes blank.

Iwaizumi walks him back to the station in the evening. When they can see the train approaching in the distance, Kasamatsu says, "I'm going to quit playing basketball."

"Don't," Iwaizumi tells him. "If you quit, you lose forever."

* * *

**one / summer**

Kasamatsu sends him a photo of his jersey at the beginning of the season. It's the same blue that Iwaizumi remembers from the locker room a year ago, but there's a new number lettered on the front. Iwaizumi laughs, and sends a picture back of his own new jersey.

 _I guess we'll both be trying to live up to the four this year,_ he says.

It means something a little different for each of them, but it's also the same: they both have a role to fulfil, to honour.

It's a strange tradition they have, the two of them, only seeing each other after tournaments. What they have isn't about the losing, though — this year, their spring interhigh games are a few days apart, and they've already made plans for when it's over. It's just that in this one small part of Iwaizumi's life, when he's with Kasamatsu, the pressure lifts.

There's unspoken rules to keep it that way. They don't say good luck to each other anymore.

When Iwaizumi texts Kasamatsu before Kaijou's quarter-final game, all he says is, _Hey._

 _Hey,_ Kasamatsu writes back. Iwaizumi's not bothered when he doesn't hear any more than that. He understands it as an acknowledgement, and one made in gratitude. But there's nothing more to say until after the game, and Kasamatsu has more important things to think about in this moment anyway. Iwaizumi can picture him in a quiet corridor somewhere, eyes closed and fingers laced together, taking his time to just breathe.

When he finally does hear back, he doesn't really need to imagine. He already knows what Kasamatsu looks like when he loses.

It's only days later that Iwaizumi's forcing his own tears back until he can get off the court, away from the pointless bullshit he hears from the stands every single time. _The top two are so impressive! It was such a close game._ What's the point in being in finals anyway, beating team after team after team and clawing their way to the top, only to be shoved down right before they reach the summit? He wants to be up there so badly, he wants to put Oikawa on that throne and stand next to him and take the win, but he just can't make it past that wall.

It's been a whole year since they were last together like this. They've seen each other twice since they first met, but it's different when the loss is this fresh and raw for both of them, the same thought ringing in their heads: _wasn't I strong enough?_

It makes them rough, like the first time.

Kasamatsu's voice is hoarse, cracking. "I...I couldn't—"

Iwaizumi cuts him off quickly, almost harshly. "You are a part of a team. Blame doesn't fall on one person. It falls on everyone, or no one."

"Sounds like something you've said before," Kasamatsu says, like he thinks that even now, Iwaizumi's not really saying it to him.

Iwaizumi just says, "I know how to take care of a captain."

He's never seen Kasamatsu play, but Iwaizumi thinks he knows what he'd be like on the court. He knows the type — firm, deft, in control. Guiding the flow of the play, steadying the rest of his team whenever they threaten to drift astray, keeping them orbiting around him.

Kasamatsu knows how to take care of an ace, too. Last spring, when Seijoh had lost to Shiratorizawa for the second time that year, Iwaizumi had gone to Kanagawa and Kasamatsu had fucked him slow and steady into his mattress, whispering in his ear: _I'm here, I've got you._ But it's not like that this time. It feels like they're both back in that dark locker room as they rut against each other messily, frantically, except it's worse, because they both only have one more chance to win.

It's strange to associate someone with the feeling of failure. It almost feels unfair to Kasamatsu, although Iwaizumi assumes that it's not so different for him. And Kasamastsu isn't what's making him feel frustrated and angry and _desperate_ \- he's a cool reprieve, actually, to the shame that's burning Iwaizumi up from the inside out, because Kasamatsu doesn't see his games. Kasamatsu's not watching him from the stands, or the bench, or from midair in the middle of a perfect set that Iwaizumi just can't follow through with.

"I won't run away again," Kasamatsu says, when they're both exhausted and spent and the frenzy has faded back down into that low, deep ache. "Kise...Kise's something different."

Kasamatsu is different too, since the new season. The last time they'd seen each other, Iwaizumi had remembered getting texts about Kaijou's new first-year ace, but Kasamatsu had always sounded kind of pissed off with the kid. Seeing the look on Kasamatsu's face when he talks about Kise though, Iwaizumi had understood. He'd seen that look before, in the mirror. And, once, in an embarrassing photo Matsuwaka took of him.

"I think we can win," Kasamatsu says.

It's not the kind of thing that he says often to Iwaizumi, or something that Kasamatsu hears from him. The space between them has always been a place where they don't have to be brave — there's no declarations, no promises. Iwaizumi says those things to Oikawa, to their team, becuase that belief is what keeps driving them forward through every match, towards victory. But here, in these quiet moments of doubt, they are allowed to not say that they will win.

So for Kasamatsu to say that to him — it speaks volumes about what he thinks of his ace.

Iwaizumi wonders if that's how Oikawa feels. He wonders if Kise will ruin Kasamatsu the way Oikawa has ruined him.

They are almost out of chances, he and Oikawa.

When Iwaizumi begins to shake, Kasamatsu holds onto him until he can breathe again.

"A team will always believe in their ace," Kasamatsu tells him. "Every single time. Without regrets."

* * *

**zero / spring**

When they had lost to Seirin in the winter, Kasamatsu had thought: _this must be what heartbreak feels like._ He had fought so hard, they all had. And they still lost. It's all over for him now, but Kasamatsu has had some time to heal. Iwaizumi had been there, as always — he'd had Kasamatsu ride him until he couldn't stay upright anymore, til Iwaizumi had to turn him over and push him into the pillows, letting him grind against the sheets. And it's not as though he _needs_ Iwaizumi to move past a loss, but he's a familiar comfort to him now, a balm that helps ease the way.

He had thought that the last game would be the worst, that it would destroy him like losing to Touou almost had. And it certainly wasn't easy to move past it; _one point one point one point_ was all he could think about for quite some time — but it's done now. That feeling of being pushed, pushed down into the ground, face pressed against the dirt that lives in the cracks in the hardwood of the basketball court. That's gone, and he feels light in a way he hasn't for a long time.

Looking at Iwaizumi now, Kasamatsu hopes that his load will lift soon too, because Iwaizumi is kind of a wreck — but that's why Kasamatsu is here, after all.

"Come with me." He takes Iwaizumi upstairs, and it kind of feels like picking Kise up off the court, like holding his head up above the waves. Iwaizumi's not injured, he can stand on his own, but he is a little broken. Kasamatsu knows that Iwaizumi's team will put him back together — that setter of his will complete him again, as he always does — but for now, Kasamatsu will pick up the pieces, carefully; meticulously.

"I don't know if it's better or worse," Iwaizumi says, sitting on the edge of Kasamatsu's bed, "to have lost to Karasuno instead of Shiratorizawa."

Kasamatsu doesn't say anything, just kisses the back of Iwaizumi's neck, the top of his spine. He's spent his time thinking that way too, enough that he knows it's not something that goes away so easily just because someone says it should; thinking _what if._

"Better," Iwaizumi decides. "It's better."

That's the last thing he says about it before he gives himself over to Kasamatsu's touch. Kasamatsu lays Iwaizumi down, kisses him until his lips are raw and swollen, stretches him open until he's loose and wet and ready.

"Come on," Iwaziumi mutters, "Come Yukio, fuck me."

"I will," Kasamatsu says, but he makes Iwaizumi come all over himself first, holds him through it. He waits until Iwaizumi has stopped shaking to give him what he wants, finally pushing inside him with a groan. Iwaizumi must be almost oversensitized by now, but he still lifts his hips to meet Kasamatsu's with every thrust, takes him in eagerly until he's panting and hard again. Then Kasamatsu has his hand on Iwaizumi's cock, growling something like _good, that's good, Hajime,_ into his ear, until they're both shuddering and coming and collapsing into one another.

They lie there next to each other for a very long time, letting the heat in the air around them cool, the only sound in the room their slowly steadying breaths.

"Oikawa's going to go pro," Iwaizumi says, later, after Kasamatsu has cleaned him up. "I know he will."

"I don't think volleyball is the only way to be with him." If Iwaizumi thinks that Oikawa is going anywhere without him, volleyball or not, then he's a fool; even Kasamatsu can see that.

Iwaizumi smiles, just a little bit. "You might be right."

"Might? I know I am," Kasamatsu says, and Iwaizumi shoves at his shoulder, laughing.

Their high school careers are finally over, and they both know this is the last time for them, but somehow it doesn't really feel like the end. Losing isn't really the end of anything, Kasamatsu thinks. Losing just makes something new of you.


End file.
